


Prompts & Things

by solitaryjane



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alpha James Bond, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Omega Q, Omega Verse, Pre-Slash, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-02-29 05:28:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18772141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitaryjane/pseuds/solitaryjane
Summary: A collection of 00Q drabbles, ficlets, and other bits I have written for various reasons on tumblr. Some are prompts while others are small stories that I don't quite have the time or inkling to develop into full fics. Ratings and warnings vary per chapter.





	1. "Just Around the Corner"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first prompt fill for MI6Cafe's 2019 [Last Drabble Writer Standing](https://mi6-cafe.tumblr.com/LDWS) challenge. The prompt is "just around the corner" and the word limit is 100.

Q blinked, rooted to the spot, his own Walther clutched tightly in his fingers. It just couldn’t be.

  
James had turned the corner a few feet in front of him, all cocky stride and poised gun. Q could practically see the exit. Then there was a shot, a thump, and a splash of blood so close that it landed on Q’s shoes.

  
He didn’t scream, like he thought he would in his worst nightmares. Instead his mind was stuck on a loop of _Jamesohgodnothisisnothappening_ as he watched the rapidly growing puddle of red, and realized he’d forgotten how to breathe.


	2. "Just One Shot"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second prompt fill for MI6Cafe's 2019 [Last Drabble Writer Standing](https://mi6-cafe.tumblr.com/LDWS) challenge. The prompt is "just one shot", the word limit is 200, and has to be 7 paragraphs exactly.

This is it, Bond knows. There is no turning back.

He adjusts the sniper rifle and looks once more through the scope. The action is redundant and a bit obsessive, not exactly something 007 is particularly known for. It’s fitting, however, in lieu of his new persona, one that has crept into his subconscious without a by-your-leave. MI6 has betrayed him, betrayed them both, and they’re simply not willing to play anymore.

On the other side of the scope sits Mallory in his fortified office. The window is triple-reinforced, but Bond knows the bullet will penetrate it like spun sugar – Q invented it after all. He will have three minutes to get to the car, fourteen to avoid all the roadblocks. Once he gets outside London proper, where Q is patiently waiting, they’ll be free.

His earpiece crackles. “Now or never, James,” the familiar voice prods, and Bond smirks. He can almost see the green eyes through the camera perched above. _Won’t be long, darling_ , he thinks, and the smile grows wider. It won't.

Bond doesn't look away this time. His hand is steady on the trigger, the aim perfect. His heart leaps at his throat.

Just one shot.

 _Go_.


	3. "Resurrection"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the third prompt fill for MI6Cafe's 2019 [Last Drabble Writer Standing](https://mi6-cafe.tumblr.com/LDWS) challenge. The prompt is "resurrection", the word limit is 250, and has to be in [acrostic format. ](https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/acrostic)

“Really, Bond?” Q sighed. “It hadn't even been a day.”

Each of the safehouse’s security measures had been breached, starting from the foyer all the way to the bedroom. Bond stood just inside the walk-in closet, where the entrance to the panic room was, and Q in front of it, looking cross.

Something could be said of the irony of being caught by someone prone to disappearing while trying to disappear. Q sighed again. So much for his foolproof plan. And it was foolproof, mind you, with a perfectly staged attack and a perfectly convincing corpse. He wasn't even going to be gone that long – maybe a few weeks – and then he’d be back. It would be no worse than what a certain double-oh liked to pull on a regular basis. Everything was going swimmingly according to plan.

Until now.

“R found some discrepancies,” Bond shrugged. “Thought I’d follow them.”

“Right, of course,” Q spat. He really should’ve specifically locked R out beforehand. It would've probably spared him the indignity of being found – alive – when barely 20 hours had passed.

Even with minimal lighting he could see the twinkle in Bond’s eyes, exuding mirth and arrogance. Q wanted to kill him.

“Care to explain?” Bond asked.

“To you? Not particularly.”

“I promise I can help.”

“Oh, suddenly an expert in international hacking ploys, are we?”

“No,” Bond smirked. “But luckily I know someone who is, and who, despite his efforts, won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”


	4. Image Prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final prompt fill for MI6Cafe's 2019 [Last Drabble Writer Standing](https://mi6-cafe.tumblr.com/LDWS) challenge. The prompt is an [image](https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2016/08/08/14/57/santorini-1578463_960_720.jpg), and the word limit is 300.
> 
> Small warning for Omegaverse content.

Q watched Bond come toward him from the ocean. His chest glistened under the sun, and his pair of tight black swimtrunks somehow skirted the line of obscene and straight into sophistication. It contrasted sharply with other alphas, all eager to show off their bulges and purposefully dripping sweat onto any omegas that caught their eyes. A bunch of crass, disgusting idiots. Q had no patience for that lot.

“Don’t like the water?” Bond asked as he plopped himself onto the towel Q was currently sunbathing on. Q snorted. It was bloody nine in the morning; the water wouldn’t be warm until noon.

“Some of us actually need to work to get a tan going,” Q replied.

“Wouldn’t you just burn?”

“Ah, that’s where you come in.”  He sat up, handing Bond a bottle of sunscreen. The alpha said nothing as he poured the lotion onto his hands. He spread it onto Q’s back, kneading the muscles as he did so. Q could feel his warm breath on the side of his neck. He wanted Bond to come closer, to soak in the man’s spicy scent. But the salt of the ocean had washed off most of the alpha’s pheromones. It left Q’s head completely clear, something he secretly wished weren’t so.

 

* * *

 

On the terrace above, Eve let out a loud sigh as she slumped on the table.

“For heaven’s sake, just fuck already,” she griped. “Watching them pretending to be civil is giving me a colossal migraine.”

“You know that’s not how Bond works,” Tanner answered beside her. “He has to make sure Q’s ‘in his right mind’ when he asks. Being a gentleman and all.”

“Bill, look over there and tell me,” she deadpanned.  “Which part of that omega’s demeanor says he wants a gentleman to you?”


	5. Omegaverse Setup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not at all related to the Omegaverse drabble in the previous chapter. I had the idea and figured I should at least write a pseudo-setup. Not sure if this'll expand any further than what I have here.

Q first presented at the age of 14. Textbook normal, by all standards. He was in the middle of the supermarket, looking after his younger brother while his mother shopped, when a surge of warmth flared up from the base of his spine. He remembered falling to his knees, the sudden onslaught of scents overwhelming his senses. There were yells of surprise and gentle, helping hands, one pair caressed his engorged scent glands and Q moaned like he was in the throes of heat. Technically he was, although the concept was still purely academic, up until then.

He woke up in an omega hospital a few hours later. His parents were talking quietly to the doctor, his brother sat by his bed, reading. There were two additional nurses in the room with them. Q had been given a mild dose of suppressant commonly prescribed to taper off the unpleasantness of the first heat. It was a traditionally homey scene, of a family dealing with their omega child’s condition in a safe, controlled environment. There were many others going through the same process all around them in the other rooms.

Except Q’s family had all been alphas for the past five generations. Alphas who married alphas, who begot alpha children, who then went on to become central figures in the upper echelon of society. Q had been writing code since he was eight, was due to start university the following year. Several governmental organizations were already keeping tabs on him, while the handle  _Q_  was starting to make its rounds in the gray hacking space. He was going to burn just as brightly as the rest of his family, might be the brightest of them all.

His father had not looked at him once since he’d come to, and his mother’s smile was the stilted one she reserved for work engagements. Gene mutation, the doctor had explained. A fractional of a percentage when both parents were lineage alphas. His brother stole wary glances at him while holding a teen book about omegas and heat. He was seven then, the same age as Q when he took apart his first computer and put it back in better working order. A framed photo of the result was still hanging in the family living room.

His parents pulled him from his boarding school the next week. Too risky, being surrounded by mostly alphas, not to mention the scandals already circulating. Q had never before heard his father raise his voice, or seen his mother shatter a teacup onto the marbled floor. They also filed a withdrawal request with the university he was enrolled in – it had historically only accept alphas and the idea of an exception was laughable. He could theoretically continue his lower education in an omega primary, or be home-schooled, until he came of age, but everyone knew it would be an utter waste of four years. Something Q was absolutely not willing to do.

So he did the only sensible thing he could think of, and ran away from home.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, 21-year-old James Bond sank himself into a pretty redheaded omega on a cheap motel bed. She was a soft, accommodating thing, drawing his knot out twice before he had to leave for his ship at daybreak. He barely made it back without being discovered – again – by his superior officer. His beta mates gave him his due ribbing, called him a knothead and a breeder and all the usual shit. James just laughed it off. Later he and the handful of alphas on board congregated at mess, trading bull stories like cigarettes. Most of them also routinely snuck out to bed an omega or two. No one wanted to go into rut stuck in a confined space at sea.

The ship’s cook was the only omega around. He was sixty, could make a mean stew out of field rations, and acted like everyone’s mother. James liked him, usually swung by after-hours to help with random kitchen duties. They’d talk late into the night; the cook had spent his life on various waters, met and fed all kinds of people, and had the sharp memory to spin endless yarns out of everything he’d seen.

James asked him, once, about fated pairs, to which the omega only cocked his bushy eyebrows and said,  _lad, I didn't reckon you be the kind to believe in children’s tales._  James smiled back, a bland, expectant one. He didn't ask that question often precisely because of this reason. Who’d think an alpha stud would be interested in sentimental picture-book drivel? They wouldn't be wrong, either; James wasn't  _interested_. He  _believed_ , because his parents were proof – of the mythical fated pair.

He was old enough by the time they died to remember all the signs. The expression they wore whenever they looked into each other’s eyes. The way they smelled not of two people permanently bonded but of one cohesive entity. The fact that his mother had never gone into heat, nor kept any medication in the cupboards, although James was sent to a neighbor’s house for a couple of hours a few times a month. (But it was  _hours_ , not days, like it was with all of his classmates’ parents.) He’d play with the kids and listen to them talk about the stupidity of ‘one true pair’ and pretend to agree, knowing he’d get made fun of otherwise.

After he was orphaned he was kicked around the foster system until he enlisted at sixteen. He had never met anyone nor heard anything remotely like what his parents had. Asking the cook was a natural gamble. The man had traveled further than anyone James had known, after all. But he, like everyone else, thought it was a joke, a passing fancy skimmed from some moonstruck omega that James had bedded. He did not disabuse the cook of that notion. It was always the same reaction, everywhere, every time.

Later he’d categorize whatever his parents had as a fluke. It was real enough, but James had given up on finding out anything about it. He was a practical child, grown into a more practical adult, and there were more pressing matters to think about than whether a miraculous lightning would strike twice.


	6. "The Second"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating's been bumped up to M.

“Oh god, no more, please…”

Q fell back on the mattress, landing on the pillow with a heavy thump. He was covered in sweat and come, and the sheets beneath was too disgusting to be worth contemplating. Blearily he stared at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Was it really only one o’clock in the afternoon? He and James had been in bed since the agent had returned from a mission last night. They had done absolutely nothing hence except fucking and dozing off in between.

“Enjoyed yourself?” a voice rumbled beside him. Q rolled over and groaned. He was sore and tired and more than a little sleep deprived, but the whole affair, he had to admit, was thoroughly and immensely satisfying.

“It’s more like you enjoyed my humble self, isn’t it?” Q quipped, to which James gave a half shrug. “And to think that I pegged you as an exclusive philanderer of the fairer sex and would balk at a good old-fashioned cock-sucking.”

“Why is that?”

It was very hard to resist an eye-roll. “Until now I’ve only seen you bed women on missions. And off. It’s hardly a surprising conclusion.”

James’s eyebrows went up. “And  _off_?”

Fuck, did he say that out loud? Must be the residual endorphins messing with his filter. Q cleared his throat. “I keep an eye on all of my agents. Some more than others. Occasionally I’d catch them on camera – in public, mind you – and…sometimes…I’d see – you know, James, a deserted back alley is never as deserted as you like to think!”

He did not expect James to laugh out loud at his fluster, even less for the blond to roll over, half-caging him in. Q looked into the bright blue eyes, mesmerized by their mirth and the faint lines creasing the corners. James smirked.

“Would you believe me if I said that you’re the first man I’ve ever been with?”

Q glared him like he was one of the cats strutting all innocent-like in front of a piece of blatantly destroyed upholstery. “Not on your life,” he said, earning a chuckle from the other in return, and a slightly shake of the head.

“Smart,” James replied. He paused for a moment, expression suddenly sobering. “What if I said you’re the  _second_?”

Q scoffed. He leaned back, waiting for indications that this was the continuation of the joke. When none came he frowned, then bolted upright, green eyes widening when the realization hit.

“You’re serious? No, wait –  _really_? I’m actually ….” Heat flooded his face when memories from last night resurfaced. “Why, that’s, I’d never have guessed from what we did that you’d only slept with a man once.”

“One  _man_ , Q, not  _once_ ,” James rebuked. “Although I’ve always been a fast learner.”

Q made another incredulous noise. It was too early (or late) to think more on the implications, so he pushed them aside, thoughts centering on the half-hard erection he was now sporting. Swiftly he climbed into his lover’s lap, felt calloused hands firmly gripping onto his bare ass, and grinned.

“Well, James, considering that I’m merely your second venture into the…lesser known, I’m sure there are plenty of things still for us to try.”


	7. "Mission Report"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of 007 Fest for the prompt "I don't care if you're an angel. You're still a jerk." Wings!AU. Everybody has wings of some sort, but there's no magic.

“Did that really just happen?” Q asked, his voice came out high-pitched from pure shock. “Did Bond really just  _throw the bomb down the open stairwell?_ ”

He didn’t believe his eyes. Not even with the crystal clear footage present from the augmented camera, plus the roomful of Q-branch specialists acting as fellow witnesses,  _plus_  the ever watchful and (somewhat) unbiased account of Eve Moneypenny as she leaned over him, her eyebrows raised in an imitation of Q’s own surprise. M’s voice was an irritated crackle on the intercom, while Tanner, who was viewing the large projector screen, simply let out a tired sigh.

“Seems like it,” Moneypenny confirmed. Her tone was calm, but Q could sense her irritation from the way her glossy black wings fluttered behind her. They sent a pile of forms flying off a nearby desk, startling several of his minions. “How long did they say the timer was?”

Q quickly pulled up the relevant footage. “Thirty seconds,” he answered, as the terrorists on screen boast how it would level the entire city block while waving the device around like a drunk with a flag. Sometimes he really wondered how these people became successful criminals. “But it was designed to detonate on impact, which would mean….”

“Right about now.” Tanner supplied from the other side.

The entire room held their collective breathes as they watched Bond take down the terrorists one by one. His movements were sure and unhurried, and Q could swear he was deliberately showing off to the cameras whenever he came into view. Five seconds passed, then ten, and when a full minute had lapsed and everything was still intact save for the bad guys’ bones, the room burst into relieved and confused chatter.

“How is this possible?” Q exclaimed. His could feel his own feathers standing on ends in agitation. “He doesn’t have magic – no matter what he bloody claims – that bomb was armed and ready when it went down.”

“Could be a decoy?” Eve hazarded a guess. “Or they were bluffing.”

“Highly unlikely,” he turned back to the footage, hoping to find some kind of indication of a sleight-of-hand. Otherwise Bond would double down on his alleged otherworldly origins and no one would ever hear the end of it.

Alas, it was too late. The telltale throat-clearing came from the comms a moment later. “Mission complete,” Bond announced. He was hovering right above the building, the bright Tuscan sun giving his magnificently white wings a quite, for the lack of a better word, angelic glow. “Requesting evac and cleanup.”

“What the hell just happened?” Q snatched up the mic on his desk. “How did you disarm the explosive?”

Bond smiled. He spun in the air, cutting a graceful figure against the steel blue sky. “That, my dear Quartermaster, would be telling.”

“I sincerely hope that’s not what’s going into your after-action report.”

“Give me a kiss when I get back and you’ll find out?”

“I – ” Q stuttered, his face lit up to the roots of his hair. The nerve of this man. “May I remind you, that it’s an integral part of _my_ job to analyze mission specifics and part of _your_ job to report them?”

“Hmm,” Bond hummed. He pretended to ponder for a moment before letting out a shrug. “Then all I can tell you is that it’s of divine –”

“Oh for god’s sake, you are not an angel, Bond! They don’t bloody exist. You’re just-”

“Gentlemen,” M’s stern voice cut through the racket. Bond immediately straightened while Q bit back a scathing retort. “It looks to me that the targets are neutralized and the threat has been contained. If we could wrap this up sometime in the next hour, it would be most helpful.”

“Yes, sir,” they both said in unison. Bond had the decency to look chastised as he landed back on the roof. Q went to his keyboard to deploy the requested units. He caught Moneypenny’s sly smile as she passed, and muttered under his breath, fully aware that the agent could still hear him through the earpiece.

“- just a colossal jerk.” he finished, and was answered by Bond’s laughter.


End file.
